just to see if you were listening
by Leondra
Summary: It's the emotion that counts, and Chandler desperately wishes he could fossilize it. My personal rant via Chandler on his lack of birthday episodes. Hints of MC at the end.


**AN: Right. Another angsty one-shot. But hey, at least the maids are nice in this one. This was inspired by my annoyance at the fact that Chandler had not one birthday episode.

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**Thanksgiving had a lot going for it as worst holiday ever. **There was the food for one thing: the turkey that Chandler always thought tasted incredibly bland (this was probably the maid's fault as opposed to the animal's; but he'd never been able to bring himself to try Monica's sure-to-be-delicious turkey), the thick gravy that was just as bad as the turkey, and simply the whole _meaning _of the holiday. His parents certainly hadn't been thankful for anything, except maybe the pool boy, and what he'd experienced with his closest friends wasn't all that different. (Although he was sure none of them had decided that they were gay and it would be jolly fun for their son if they opened an all-male burlesque. Of course, when he'd drunkenly blurted this out to Phoebe, she'd declared that she was a little unsure about Ross, and suggested that they should start a betting pool on the matter.) Chandler's friends didn't seem to see the things that were right in front of them; the things that he was still constantly in awe of, like great coffee, rent-stabilized apartments, and best of all, the greatest friends anyone could ask for.

Instead, Rachel would pout over the fact that Thanksgiving was a present-less holiday, Monica would either be griping about her _lack_ of a boyfriend or how her mother didn't approve of the boyfriend she _did_ have. Ross, the biggest whiner, would go on about the possible ramifications of Ben being raised by two lesbian lovers, Rachel's latest "conquest" (Ross' words, not Chandler's) and the fact that Monica had stopped making his favorite kind of potatoes after the "Underdog fiasco". Joey was thankful only for thongs and Drew Barrymore, and even _Phoebe_ seemed determined to dwell on her mother's death rather then the good aspects of their lives.

And then everyone made fun of _him _for avoiding the traditional holiday food like the plague. What was the difference between his refusal to eat the food and their continuous complaints over how much their lives sucked, and how little they had to be thankful for?

But the _number one _reason that he hated Thanksgiving was the memories- or more accurate, _memory.

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_

_**The kind, understanding smile** of his mom, false at the edges, and only if you knew to look for it. Her words; at first matching her smile; then turning ice-cold and sharp, eyes once again sliding past Chandler to Charles. _

_Chandler followed her gaze to his father; who attempted an equally false smile after a quick glare at Nora. He wasn't as practiced at it though, maybe the difference was that he was away even more than his wife, and his eyes were like rock chips. But there was no emotion in them; even fossilized and preserved from some past love possibly held for his family. _

_**The turkey**; now anything but bland. Instead it was like bitter acid, burning in the back of his mouth and threatening to destroy in his insides **(so, in retrospect, it wasn't such a bad thing that he was rendered incapable of swallowing). **_

_**The smile and wink **the houseboy sent him. He might have skimmed over it in other circumstances, not even glancing at the man, but in the face of this new development, everything seemed all too in-focus, everyone's face larger than life; any small gesture highlighted and circled in red ink, like on football replays. _

_**And all he can do is wait for the big punch line; the bu'dum'chhh of a drum set that he would become infamous for imitating in later years. **_

_**But his parents have never been much for jokes.

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**_

It's also the memories that make Thanksgiving number two on his official list; and it's not even a close second, and if the apocalypse were to happen on his birthday, he wouldn't be surprised. There's not even a need to choose a specific memory- it's the emotion that counts; and Chandler desperately wishes he could fossilize it.

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_(An unusual anguish curling in the pit of his stomach, something separate from the hunger he also feels- he's waiting to eat his birthday pancakes until his parents arrive. _

_Hours later, they still lay untouched on the table.) _

_Tears pricking so that they might be knives, or maybe hot pokers, to be even more graphic, because they burned his eyelids and stung their way down his cheeks, while the headboard banged suspiciously in the room above him. _

_Not that he could have slept anyway_

_The nightlight he'd gotten from the maids as a last birthday present didn't seem to be working. The bed sheets were too thin, and much too flimsy against the specters that had taken possession of otherwise innocent items: _

_**A nightstand, ****a rocking chair**_

_**The giant wooden dog statue that his mother seemed to think was more appropriate than a stuffed animal **_

_**The birthday balloons, half of the helium lost so that the swayed about the room like drunks (like his father, who had just clumped up the stairs)

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**_

Chandler isn't too willing to have anyone forget about his birthday like that again. So he just conveniently forgets to tell them.

Not _forgets entirely_, of course. You can't escape telling your closest friends your birthday, but he manages to slip by the first year, when there's only four of them and Monica is still getting over Kip; while Kip is still preparing for the wedding; while Ross is still trying to make his marriage work with Carol; while Phoebe is still being Phoebe. While Chandler still worked at his career, convinced it was only a temp job.

The same goes for the second year. Monica's trying to evade Amanda and get in contact with Phoebe; Phoebe is trying to evade both Amanda and Monica, Ross still knows nothing, and Chandler is caught in the middle of it all- so much so that _he_ almost forgets his birthday. When he remembers, he tries to not compare the way his friends are busy with the way his parents are always busy.

The third year there's a small party, after Monica transferred her phone numbers from her 1992 address book to her 1993 one, she finds Chandler's birth date penned in neatly next to his phone number (it's no surprise that she didn't discover it before; they've never once called each other). He's managed to convince her not to have a _party_ party, and in the end it's just the four of them and a slightly awkward looking Joey, sitting on the couch, the girls suffering through _Die Hard _and the guys suffering through the girls' complaints of the plotline.

And for those three hours, Chandler is happy, and the warmth spreading through his stomach is only replaced with a heavy stone when he realizes late that night, sprawled in bed and slightly tipsy from the beers, that his parents have once again either forgotten his birthday or hadn't thought to spare a few minutes to call, or write and send a card.

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(_a not-so-unusual anguish)

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_

And he's content when, all the remaining years after that, his birthday is cut out, and the birthday of the season is now Rachel's. And suddenly Monica is confiding in Rachel instead of Chandler, who was, after all, the only one to hear about Fun Bobby's balcony persuasions and the real reason she broke up with Kip.

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He doesn't think about that, just as much as he doesn't like to think about the fact that Monica usually has a memory like an elephant's, especially when it comes to dates, because he know it will hurt. He thinks anyway, and hurts. 


End file.
